They Met Again
by KSnowBlack
Summary: *Complete* After season 7. Sandor Clegane is back in Winterfell and is greeted with a grateful surprise. "It was she, older and taller, without the childish features of the image he kept in his mind, but the same Sansa Stark he had not forgotten for a day".
1. Chapter 1

A/N: English isn't my natural language, so, I'll appreciate if you help me to improve it. Thanks.

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Sandor loosened his horse's reins as he caught a sight of the Winterfell's walls, even though he had been there before, which now seemed to have been a lifetime ago, remained an impressive sight. A keep that seemed to be shaped from the same snow that covered it, seeming to strengthen with the snow that fell over it instead of succumbing to. As he approached, he could distinguish the new stones that had replaced the lost in the last attacks, as well as the new wood from which the gate was made.

"Someone is been working hard around here". He grunted as he crossed the gate and saw that the work continued in the courtyard, where every man, woman, or child seemed to be occupied with something.

"It seems Jon's substitute has led the North with an iron fist". The dwarf replied at his side while nodded at the people who staring at him suspiciously.

"Substitute"?

"His sister".

"Arya"? He turned to the dwarf without understanding. "I doubt the she wolf"...

"No, not Arya, Lady Sansa". He said with his eyes fixed on a point in front of him.

On the last step of the staircase leading to the castle's great hall, an auburn figure looked at them closely - straight backs and hands joined in front of her body, no smile, a legitimate, well-born lady who knew well the power she had. Behind her two guards wearing full armor and armed with spears and swords waiting for a signal to strike if necessary.

Sandor felt his mouth dry, and for a moment, he forgot where he was and what he was doing. It was she, older and taller, without the childish features of the image he kept in his mind, but the same Sansa Stark he had not forgotten for a day. The horse bucked beneath his body, taking him from his reverie, and shook its head, complaining of the way Sandor pulled his reins. Loosening his grip, he resumed his way slowly, staying back, so focused on the lady waiting for his brother to dismount from the horse that he almost missed the blur that passed beside her heading toward the King of the North. _The little she wolf_. The corner of his mouth curled at seeing her, she looked nothing like the dirty, angry little animal that had abandoned him to die years before, but she was alive, which was more than he could tell of many people he had met. His eyes returned to the auburn figure. Unlike Jon, she showed no reaction at the reunion of her brothers, and when the moment of euphoria passed, she received him with a hug that was only a little warmer than the falling snow.

As the others Jon called from "his companions", Sandor was led to the salon of Winterfell where he was received by the heat of half a dozen fireplaces and a bowl of hot broth and freshly baked bread. _No wine_ , he mourned, but he ate all the broth and even licked his fingers so nothing was lost, the dead were on their way, and he did not know how many other decent meals he would have until those shitty creatures arrived. Sandor did not see any of the Starks that day, but he heard around that the crippled boy, Bran, was also there, back to his ancestral home after spending a long time on the north side of the Wall - how a crippled boy and a skinny girl managed not only to go, but coming back from there was a mystery he had no desire to unravel.

At night, already settled in one of the castle's chambers in a soft bed with warm covers, Sandor succumbed to exhaustion and slid easily into a deep sleep so heavy that he almost missed his door being opened. As fast as he could in his lethargic state, he grabbed the dagger he always kept under his head while sleeping.

"That will not be necessary." A whisper went through the darkness.

He knew that voice, but the tone was not the same one he remembered, it was more subdued, more restrained, more mature.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked as he sat on the bed, his covers sliding down his body, making him wince as he felt the cold touch his skin.

She did not answer at once, going to the little fireplace and turning the embers to revive them; when she seemed satisfied with her work, threw a new piece of wood that began to burn slowly. Turning toward him, Sansa removed the hood that hid her face - seeing her so close after so many years made him think he was still dreaming, and, for the first time in many years, it was a dream he did not want to escape.

"Wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"The last time I heard about you, I was told you were dead." They got silent for a moment, until she added, "It's good to know you are not."

"I thought you were dead too."

She laughed, a sound devoid of humor but full of bitterness.

"Apparently I'm made of a stronger material than many believed, even me."

The silence fell on them again, but though dense, it was not uncomfortable. Sansa turned again to the fireplace, and the flames, lit up her face. With her gaze fixed on the fire, her features seemed to be carved in stone, and if it were, she would be the most beautiful statue ever seen by him. However there was something else, something he could not name, but that made the hairs on his arm bristle, not in a good way.

"I need to get back." She spoke suddenly, already heading for the door. "Have a good night, sir." She finished without looking at him and sneaked out the door.

"What the fuck was that?" He swore before he lay down again, the sleep replaced by confusion. What did she want from him anyway?

The night turned into day before he could find an answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Thaks for the reviews, just love it =)

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The sun was setting when the black dragon flew over the castle, the beating of its wings hurling away everything in its path.

Sandor watched the men in the yard dropped everything they were doing, astounded by the scene unfolding in front of them: a black beast, as fascinating as terrifying, descending toward the middle of the keep, forcing whoever stands in its way to turn away. With the paws firmly on the ground, the dragon opened its mouth; for a moment, Sandor feared that mortal flames come out of it, but the beast only squeaked, a shrill sound that made many cover their ears, while it spread its wings, touching the walls around. With the attention from everyone about her, the Dragon Queen came down from her mount and took only a few steps before its fly again, joining its brother in the sky.

Jon went to meet her at once, greeting her and taking her inside the castle immediately. _Something is fucking wrong._ Sandor realized, or now they would be hearing a speech from Jon about the reasons that made he to bend the knee to the new queen.

"Si-sir..."

"I'm no sir." He spat to a scrawny boy about seven, who had his eyes on the ground and twisted his skinny hands.

"The king... he... he asked..." The boy's words were lost in the moment he lifted his face to face him. Sandor gave a smile, many men did not have the same courage.

"Lost your damn tongue?" His growl made the boy step back.

"No si..." He saw the boy swallow the word."I... The king asks you to meet him in the small parlor." He said in a single breath and left almost running, not looking back.

 _Hell_. For Jon to summon him, the things should be even worse than he imagined, and finding Tyrion Lannister, Davos Seaworth, Gendry and Brienne of Tarth together with the other Starks and a chubby one he did not know, was more than enough to reinforce his theory.

"To those who do not know her, I would like to introduce Daenerys Targaryen, our queen."

"Jon, I cannot believe that..."

"We have already discussed this, I'm doing the best for our people, Sansa, and I do not want to hear any other more word about this.

Sandor saw the barely contained fury gleam in the auburn's eyes as she bit her lips in an effort to keep her mouth shut.

"What made me brought you here was not my decision to support Queen Daenerys, but something much more urgent." Jon looked apprehensively at everyone before continuing. "Yesterday... Yesterday I was informed that the Wall fell down. The time we thought we had, no longer exists, the Night King and his army have already reached the lands known as Brandon's Gift."

"It's a considerable trip from here to there, they may already be around Winterfell." The dwarf broke the silence, pure dread dominating his voice.

"No. They arrived at the Gift this morning, we'll have a few days until they get here." The emotionless tone of the boy in the chair surprised even Sandor.

"How do you know that?" Tyrion questioned him.

"It's complicated." Jon answered for his brother.

"How can you know what happened this morning in a place that's miles away from here? Even a raven would not come so fast."

The boy did not unsettle at the queen's words, or gaze.

"I saw it happen."

" _Saw?_ What do you mean by "saw"?

"I was there."

The queen stared at the people around as if expecting someone to declare the boy insane, as no one did it, she forced herself to ask: "How?"

"If... if you allow me, my queen," the fat man stammered as he stepped forward, "I could explain." He waited for her to nod in agreement before starts. "Have you ever heard of wargs?" She denied. "Well... there are people with the ability to get into the mind of animals and control their movements, Bran is one of these people, that's how he saw the Wall fell, he was there, in control of a crow."

"It is true." Jon spoke helping his friend and brother when he saw the queen's fury glare and the way she clenched her fists at the thought of them trying to make a fool of her.

"This is impossible!"

"As impossible as bringing life to three dragons." Bran said monotonously. "If the only way to believe my words is to prove my abilities to you, tell me that and I will do, because we have nothing to gain by continuing this discussion."

"Continue your story, we'll talk about your abilities later."

"By the morning the entire army was already in Brandon's Gift, but it's so big that I cannot tell if they're following a specific path or just marching south expecting bumping in something."

"You could monitor their advance, try to understand their plans." Tyrion suggested.

"I fear if I keep close enough, the Night King can feel my presence and come straight here."

"I do not see how that would be a problem, we'd have days until that happened."

"No, we would not, because the Night King is in possession of Viserion."

Sandor was in the Winterfell battlements watching another group leave the castle - the third in less than a day. People were scared, and they had reason for it. The army of the dead was closer than everyone thought, the time seemed to slip between their fingers. They had days, weeks at best, until the enemy arrives Winterfell, but Jon wanted to intercept them on the way, what decreases that time in half.

Resigned with what was to come, he withdrew into the castle - he would freeze for eternity soon, was needless anticipate this. On his way in search of something strong to drink, he found the Lady of Winterfell. She had not given him a look since the night she had invaded his room, but she stopped when saw him at that moment; not knowing what that meant, he went his way.

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"Clegane". Her voice sounded behind him. Sandor turned, but said nothing. "Has a minute? I have wine on my solar if you want to join me." He watched her eyes shine with amusement as he nodded in agreement.

"What do you want from me?" He asked as he took his first sip, was too sweet for his taste, but better than the crap beer he had been drinking.

"Your words." She said, leaning against the table, her own wine glass shining in her hands. "Jon has told me since we meet again that our greatest threat comes from the north and rules out the danger approaching south, especially after coming back alive from the conversation he had with Cersei in King's Landing. You were there, I want to know if you believed when Cersei accepted the truce he offered."

"Cersei is a bitch who lies as easily as she breathes, so no.

Sansa put the cup on the table and clung to the edges of it with her back to him.

"Jon is preparing all the men he has to march north while they should be heading south. If Cersei's men arrive in Winterfell we will not be able to protect ourselves, it will be our end." She glared at him over her shoulder, waiting for his opinion.

"You're right, without men you cannot withstand a direct clash with Cersei's army, not even a siege." He heard her sigh, and it was enough to understand that she considered her brother a great idiot for not listening to her. "But Jon is right too. Cersei is nothing more than a spoiled bitch who does not want to take off the butt of that fucking throne, but the Night King... I do not think he wants anything else than to destroy everything in his path." He rose to refill his cup again, and after swallowing the liquid in one gulp, stared at her. "If your brother loses the war in the north, it does not matter who will be sitting here or on that damn iron throne, in the end we'll all end up with bright blue eyes."


	3. Chapter 3

"Why are you here?" The little she wolf's voice caught him.

"Where the hell did you come out?" He looked at the stable's door that was closed and became to brush the black horse before him.

"Why have not you left yet?"

"And why would I?"

"That's what you did in King's Landing, was not it? You fled in the middle of the battle."

"I hated that shitty city, I wanted it to fall."

"Does that mean you like here?"

He stared at her impatience.

"That means I want to drink all your brother's wine before death takes me."

"Death could find you before that."

Sandor studied the little she wolf's posture, feet slightly apart, firmly on the ground, hands clasped behind her back, a dagger fastened on her belt, and on the opposite side her sword.

"By you?"

"I've already decided about your life once, it's not up to me anymore."

"You mean I'm not in your fucking list anymore?" His laugh came like a growl.

"No, not anymore." Her voice was so expressionless that it sounded like death itself. "Are you going to fight alongside my brother?"

"That's what I'm here for."

"I thought you were here to drink all Jon's wine."

The corner of Sandor's mouth curved, as well as lethal, she was clever.

"It's a beautiful animal, it reminds me Stranger."

"I know it."

"What happened to him?"

"Stolen. Dead. Who the hell knows?"

The girl went around the animal, stroked its muzzle, and just as she had appeared, she left, silent as a ghost.

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The men were laughing and talking loudly, some of them, already completely drunk, pinched the girls who filled their beer mugs. It was the celebration before the battle. Some celebrated the imminence of the combat, but most of them only wanted to enjoy a spree before thickening the ranks of the Night King. Sandor watched everything around him at the edge of the room, preferring to stay away from all that damn stupidity. None of them had seen the army of the dead, none of them had tried to fight with one of those things; they did not know that death was almost certain.

"Are you going to join them?" Jon's voice sounded at his side.

"Not fucking."

"I'm not in the mood to party either.

"They're all stupid cunts."

"Not all, some of them just want to enjoy life before death." Sandor stared at the boy beside him, though young, Jon was more sensible and fair than all the men he had met, including his father, Ned Stark, who would still be alive if he had had enough judgment to keep his mouth shut. "There's something I need to tell you, Clegane, but not here, walk with me."

Unwinding himself from the wall, Sandor followed him to the small hall where a large table supported the map of the North, starting from the Neck and following after the Wall. There were small wooden figures above him, indicating the movements Jon planned to carry out when he left, as well as the advance of the Night King, who was about to cross the border of the New Gift.

"Take some wine if you want." Jon said as he studied the map again.

Knowing that nothing good could come from a private conversation with a king, Sandor did not bother to get a drink, sipping the sour liquid straight from the bottle.

"What the hell do you have to tell me?"

"I want you to stay in Winterfell."

"Why?"

Jon put both hands on the map and stared at him with tired eyes.

"My family will stay here, Clegane. I want you to protect them."

Sandor took a long gulp before answering.

"Your eldest sister has her own sworn shield, the she wolf knows how to handle a sword better than many men I knew, and the boy has the fat one."

Despite everything, Jon smiled.

"Sam is a bookman, not a fighter." Becoming serious, he continued. "If any threat comes to Winterfell... I need to know they will be safe, or as safe as possible. I need you, Clegane."

"Fuck." He murmured before drying out the bottle.


	4. Chapter 4

A little one, but I hope you enjoy it.

PS: Thanks for the reviews, favs and follows =)

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People had left the castle as rats abandoned ships that were sinking. Only those who were too old or too stubborn remained. These and Sandor Clegane. As he pushed Bran's wheelchair, cursing as if his life depended on it, he thought of how, no matter what he did, he always ended up as someone's nanny.

"You can leave me here."

As he rubbed his hands together to warm them up, Sandor saw the boy touch the red leaved tree with his fingertips and throw his head back - see the whites of Bran's eyes and the way his head trembled slightly made a shiver to run down Sandor's back, making him shudder. Then the boy took out his fingers from the tree and looked at him as nothing had happened.

"I'll stay here for a while, you can return to the castle." The boy did not have to ask twice. "Tell my sister to meet me in the map room at dusk." He spoke behind Sandor's back.

"Arya?"

"Sansa." With no more words, he touched the tree and lost himself in his visions.

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Sandor felt his balls still frozen as he walked across the castle in search of the auburn, first in the kitchens, then in the solar, and now in his bedroom. Annoyed at being a scout boy, he punched the door.

"Come in." He could hear the soft tone of her voice through the wooden door. "I did not expect you to return so soon…"

However, Sandor was not listening, as he crossed the sill, met the auburn in a large tub, her hair held high up as she brushes a soapy tissue gently over her shoulder. Then she turned and saw him.

"What the fuck!" She exclaimed and pulled out a towel to cover herself. Outraged, she stood, and Sandor's mouth filled with water as he watched the fabric sticking on her curves. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You told me to come in."

"I thought it was Tessa with my tea." Both of them stared at each other for a long moment. "What are you doing here?"

"Your brother, he wants you meet him in the map room at dusk."

"You already delivered the message, you can withdraw."

Sandor was turning to leave when she lifted her leg out of the tub. A red line marked her from the knee to the ankle; he got stunned by seeing it.

"You're not the only one with scars." She spoke without emotion as she came out of the water, forming a puddle on the floor. "Before died my husband insisted on leaving me with a lot of them." She approached him slowly. "No one on my face, of course, he liked me pretty, just like Joffrey.

Stopping closer than a meter from him, Sansa lifted one foot so he could see the sole, a bit was missing.

"He claimed I was keeping in touch with Jon."

She lifted the towel and showed her thighs, there were scratches from dozens of cuts.

"Seeing my blood excited him."

She reached for him, showing him her arm, where there were dozens of dots – burn scars – marking the pale skin.

"One for every time he slept with me." She folded her hands over her chest, holding the edges of the towel. "Luckily, I had a short marriage, because for these, I have no explanation."

She uncovered herself and he felt the hate rising inside him as he saw many other scars - marks of cuts, burns and even bites covered Sansa's belly and breasts. She turned her back and showed that the situation there was even worse. Silently she covered herself again and stared at him.

"Now I understand a little more the hate you feel for your brother, and I hope someday you can kill him like I did with Ramsay." Turning her back, she pulled away to dress. "Close the door when you go."

That night, lying on his bed facing the ceiling, Sandor felt rage and desire run together through his body, because even if the scars covered much of Sansa's skin, that did not detract her beauty or the fascination she exercised over him. Still, it was impossible to remember her beautiful breasts without also remember the teeth mark on the left one. If Ramsay Snow were still alive, it would be a different Dog to kill him.


	5. Chapter 5

The savages worshipers of Dragon Queen had found the Westeros troops a few days after their departure from Winterfell, and the dead were continuing southward, making their meeting soon to come. Knowing this before the combatants themselves was bizarre and made everyone's tension so dense that it was almost tangible. An unexpected event, however, diverted everyone's attention from the imminent battle.

It was almost night when two visitors reached the castle walls and the guards rushed to notify the Lady of Winterfell. Jaime Lannister and a knight named Bronn called for passage. Chaos settled in the blink of an eye. It was up to Sansa to decide about the visitors, but Arya would not allow anything to happen before she was heard, and everyone listened, even who was in the farthest reaches of the keep. Half an hour later, the two men were taken into the castle, unarmed, with tied fists.

"What you want from me?" Sandor asked as he entered Sansa's solar finding her sitting behind her desk.

She gave him a weak smile.

"This could be your words, you know. 'What the hell you want from me?' By the way, what are the Clegane family words?"

Sandor snorted.

"How many of these did you drink?"

Sansa turned the silver goblet between her fingers.

"Some, but there's something left if you want it."

"Not, too sweet."

As he got silent, she sighed becoming instantly more serious.

"Jaime Lannister is locked in one of our cells right now, and I have no idea what to do with him.

"And what the hell do I have to do with it?"

"I must decide the fate of a man who I hate, who helped to destroy my family, but came here with his sword and an important warning." She rested her chin in her hand and stared at him. "Tyrion asked, almost begged me to let him go, Arya wanted to kill him as soon as the gates opened. Bran is indifferent to everything that goes on here, and needs just a look at Brienne to see that she is in love with the Kingslayer. None of them is capable to give me a good advice. Should I trust his words and make use of his sword or kill him before he kills one of us?"

"Are you really asking me what you should do?"

"It would not hurt to hear another opinion."

"Kill both of them and get it over with."

Sansa snorted.

"Then I'd have to worry about Tyrion trying to kill me while I sleep."

"You asked, I answered."

She sighed again.

"I wish it were so simple." She played with the goblet again, staring at it without actually seeing it. "Sometimes all I wanted to do was go back in time to when I was a kid, and my biggest concern was not to dirty the hem of my dress with mud.

"You're not a child anymore."

Sansa set the goblet down on the table and gave him a caustic look.

"Unfortunately not, now instead of worrying about the mud in my dress, I worry about the blood on my hands."

The next morning Jaime Lannister and his companion were freed and received the privilege of walking freely through the castle, accompanied by two armed guards. It was a political decision, which did not please either side, but it did not displease them either. _The little bird is playing the game of thrones, after all,_ Sandor thought and twisted his mouth in disgust.

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Two days after the Kingslayer arrived the little she wolf left the castle before dawning - Sandor had only seen her because he had lost sleep and decided to go to the stables to look the black horse with which he had sympathized. Even knowing that the girl had left with a purpose, to know which was, got him perplexing.

"She what?" He snarled when Sansa told her sister's intentions.

"You heard." She answered quietly as she threaded a needle.

"Your sister is going after that damn bitch and you patching old rags!"

Sansa interrupted her work and stared at him, her eyes glittering with a barely restrained anger.

"And you wanted me to do what? I am not a warrior like Arya or Jon. I do not have gifts like Bran. I have nothing left but to stay here, and if I cannot be of any help in overcoming this war, I will try to be useful in not letting my people die of cold!"

She back to sewed, gripping the needle so furiously that she ended up sticking her finger in. Sandor was surprised to see her lose her mind and throw away whatever the hell she was repairing against the wall before she got up and started walking from one side to the other, with the injured finger in her mouth.

"Do you think I do not care about her? About Jon, Bran, and everyone else?" Sansa approached, stopping almost within reach of his hand. "You do not know how difficult it is to stay here just waiting, not knowing whether I will see my family together again, or the shards left over from it, each one more damaged than the other.

Sansa was wrong, the wait also disquieted him, but he did not mind correcting her, just stepped forward and took her hand in his, wrapping her injured finger in a cloth. She stared at him with those huge blue eyes that had visited him several times in his dreams and her mouth slightly open, but she did not say anything.

"It was dripping on the floor." He caught himself justifying the unconscious gesture, but it took him a long time to undo it.

Sansa put her bandaged finger close to her chest.

"You were always kind to me, even when I was too foolish to notice it, and you still are." Without him expected, she lightly touched his arm. "Thank you."

The delicate touch, almost imperceptible through his clothes, reached something inside him, preventing him from responding with his derision or the usual rudeness.

"I'm not gentle."

She gave him a smile that, though sad, was tender.

"You can be ruthless on the battlefields and rude when you're out of them, but you're not incapable of gentleness, Sandor." She increased the pressure on his arm. "I know better than anyone."

Sandor pulled away from Sansa's touch, feeling unworthy and angry.

"Was I gentle when I let those cunts beat you?"

"What choice did you have? If you tried to go against Joffrey's abuse, your head would end up gracing the battlements of the Red Keep as my father's."

"Do not do it! Do not embellish reality to make me one of the fucking knights of your stupid songs."

"I would never do that, you're better than any knight I've ever met."

She came toward him, her hand coming up as if she wanted to touch his chest, he stepped back. Her words and attitudes confused him and he did not know how to deal with them. Stunned, he turned his back on Sansa and withdrew from the solar before she took another step.

For the second time in his life, Sandor Clegane ran away.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks for the reviews, is really good to know what you think about this.

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"What the hell are they doing here?" Sandor asked as Jaime Lannister and Bronn entered the map's room.

"I invited them." Sansa answered impassively, her voice reaching only his ears.

"Why?"

"Their knowledge can be useful."

Sandor growled in disagreement, he had spent his life seen the Lannisters doing anything just for their own benefit, and the other one did not seem to be any different. Restless, he watched as the Lady Winterfell and her younger brother told where Jon and his army were and hoped they would return the favor by talking about Cersei's plans for war. When the meeting was over, he was the last to leave the room, spent a moment looking ate the map where the pieces depicting the enemies from the south had been moved closer than they had expected. Clutching the handle of his sword, he got out wondering if the presence of Jaime Lannister in that reunion would be proved an unprecedented stupidity.

"Clegane?" It was still strange to hear his name being called so softly. "Will you escort me to my chamber?"

Sandor looked around for Brienne, the woman always seemed to be a step behind Sansa, but she was not there at the moment. Agreeing with his head, he followed her.

"I have the impression that you were not happy with the decision I made about our visitors."

"What I think does not matter."

"It matters to me."

Not knowing how to answer, Sandor remained silent.

"It was not an impulsive decision." She said after a moment. "I considered all the possibilities before inviting them to join us.

He stopped short.

"All possibilities? Cersei's army might be getting a raven with all yours brother's plans. Did you consider that?"

"That will not happen, but yes, I did consider that possibility."

"And?"

"I thought it was worth the risk." He stared at her in astonishment. "You and my brothers did a good job convincing me that if the war in the north is lost, what comes from the south will not make any difference."

No answer from him, Sansa walked again, forcing him to follow her. As soon as she opened the door, he turned his back to leave, but was interrupted by an unusual request.

"Could you do some company for me?"

"You have Brienne for that."

"Not today." Before he asked her what she meant, she added, "I have some wine."

"It's always the same shit, why?"

"Because it usually works." She answered with a smile and left the door open as she went to the fireplace.

"That sweet crap you drink cannot be called wine."

"I do not drink because the taste."

"You just want to get drunk?" That was unusual for women.

"Most of the time I just want to forget." She spoke over her shoulder, looking at him. - "Or sleep." She sighed. "Knowing that Brienne was in the next room calmed me down at bedtime, but that did not stop me from waking up terrified in the middle of the night and almost scared her to death. I had Sweet Sleep a few times, but it always got me distracted the other day, so I changed it for wine." Sansa stared at him for a moment, and then frowned. "You know how a conversation works, do not you?" One person talks, then another do, it's your turn now."

"I do not want to talk."

"What do you want to do then?" She asked coming toward him, her eyes glittering like those of a wolf preparing for the attack.

"What the hell are you thinking?"

"I told you, I want your company, Sandor."

Seeing her undo one of the bodice knot of her dress, Sandor got exasperated.

"Is this a joke to you?"

"Why would it be? I see the way you look at me, the way you choked when I showed my body, I know it was not just because of my scars." Sansa undid another knot. "I remember how you looked at me in Kings Landing, at the time I did not understand, but now I recognize the desire when I see it, and it shines in your eyes whenever you sees me." Another knot was undone. "I feel disgusted every time I see this look on other men, but not on you, it makes me wonder what it would be like to have sex with a man of my own free will." The dress fell to the floor.

"And would I be that man?" He asked sarcastically, though he felt his cock come alive just to see her in her underwear.

"Perhaps." She took another step toward him. "I was stupid for fearing you when I was a child, and I've asked myself over and over again what it would have been if I have left Kings Landing with you. Unfortunately, this is something we will never know."

She tryed to touch him, on the marked side of his face, but he caught her by the wrist, interrupting her halfway.

"I'm not your whore."

Sansa leaned against him and met his eyes.

"I do not remember offering money."

Angrily, Sandor dropped her arm and stepped out of her room, stepping hard. Who did she think she was to manipulate him that way? Seeing everything red and feeling uncomfortable in the middle of his legs, he left the castle - maybe the cold helped him to get his thoughts in order faster, but he doubted it was enough to placate his desire.


	7. Chapter 7

No one could eat that night. Bran's warning at dusk, although expected, had disrupted them. _Tomorrow_ , the boy had said returning to his body after spending hours away _tomorrow_. The army of the dead was advancing on and on. Those damn skeletons could find Jon's and the Queen's men still asleep, and that would be a massacre.

Without a word, Sansa withdrew from the table, a not polite gesture to a lady, but no one seemed to notice, or care, or both of it, because each one lived their own premature mourning. Sandor followed her with his eyes and when he cannot see her anymore, he followed her. He found her in front of one of the windows overlooking the Goodwood, her hands folded across her chest, her arms tightening.

"It's always like that?" She asked without looking away from the red leaves' tree taht she stared at without really seeing.

"What?"

"The night before a battle."

"You've had a night before a battle."

"This time it's different, before I was so consumed with hatred that I could not feel anything but it."

They were silent for a few more minutes.

"It's never the same. For each person, for each battle, it is different. "

"It's horrible."

For the first time in his life, Sandor wanted to know beautiful words that would made her feel better, but he did not know them and doubted that any words could ease the anguish she was feeling.

"Yes, it is."

Sandor continued to admire her as she stared out the window, the moon light illuminating her sad, but beautiful features, and her pale, delicate hands resting gently on her arms. She was beautiful and he would have spent eternity watching her from distance if was not a solitary tear roll down her face. Without realizing it, Sandor approached and brushed his finger on Sansa's face, cleaning up the wet trail and attracting her gaze. Without warning, she hugged him, burying her face on his chest. Taken by surprise, he hesitated a moment before imitating her, wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm so tired, Sandor... Peace should not depend on war, neither should life, but look around us..." Her words waned and fresh tears streamed down her face.

"Shh ... Calm down, Sansa." He tried to comfort her by rubbing her back and heard her giggle before she faced him, her blue eyes floating in a red sea.

"It's the first time you called me by my name, did you know that?" Her gaze was intense, as if searching for something inside him, making his blood run faster and his breathing become erratic. "I'm sorry for what I said to you a few nights ago, I know I offended you, but I did not mean to".

Sandor knew what she meant, and he still felt like the target of a bad joke, but his curiosity was greater than his discomfort, and he gave way to it.

"And what was your intention?"

Sansa clung tightly to his woolen robe as if to prevent him from running away and blinked her eyes, making them clearer.

"I know I did not choose my words very well, and I insulted you, but in essence everything I said was true. I know you want me, I see in your eyes, and every time I feel it on me, my body warms. It just happens with you, which makes me believe that I want you too, but I'm not sure, because I've never felt it before."

Sandor tried to pull away, too confused by what he had just heard, but she redoubled her grip, holding them together.

"Please, Sandor, show me how is to be with someone you esteem."

"I ... I ..." The blue eyes glued to his had impelled him to admit aloud something he was not proud of. "I do not know how it is, either, Sansa, all my life, women only accepted me in their beds because I paid them for it."

Contrary to his expectations, Sansa smiled tenderly.

"Then we can find out together..." Rising on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his.


	8. Chapter 8

If asked him, Sandor could not tell how he came to Sansa's chamber, but there he was, locking the door and putting them way from the rest of the world. He turned and almost did not believe what he saw: Sansa, standing in the middle of the room, looking at him expectantly. He approached her slowly, she was trying to smile at him, but had no success; he paused a couple of steps away, waiting her reaction. Hesitantly, she shortened the distance between them and placed her lightly trembling hands on his shoulders. Sandor could feel her insecurity, just as he knew she could feel his, and feared that Sansa would regret her decision at any moment.

"I have no idea what to do, Sandor."

Sandor had never imagined himself in this situation, with Sansa or with any other woman. All the women he had slept with had been as experienced as he had, and he doubted that any of them had been as severely traumatized as she. He had to be gentle and careful, and he had no idea how to do it either.

"What do you want to do?"

Sansa hesitated for a moment, but when she increased the pressure of her touch and looked into his eyes, he knew he would have an answer.

"I want to see you. All of you."

"Do as you wish."

Looking away, suddenly shy, Sansa began to undo knots and open buttons, in a slow and exciting rhythm. When she reached the robe, Sandor bent down to her pull its over his head, the sound of the fabric falling to the floor was muffled by Sansa's sigh. Her touch, as subtle as a warm breeze, made his hairs bristle, longing for more.

"Still hurts?" She asked tracing one of his scars.

"No."

Sansa ran her fingers over his chest, touched each scar, teased with his hair, but none of it prepared him for the sensation of having her lips on his skin. Heat spread away from that point and his blood ran faster. He had to hold himself to not touch her, since he wanted her to enjoy the moment, the control she had over him. She wrapped his waist, lightly stroking the base of his back and staring at him with bright eyes.

"And what do you want, Sandor?"

"The same." His voice was hoarser than usual, strange even to himself.

"I..." She closed her eyes, but did not move away. "My body... My scars..."

"You stroked each of mine, let me do the same to you."

Fearful, Sansa nodded. Not even in his daydreams, Sandor dared to imagine taking her clothes off, even more doing so with her permission. He undid the loops longing to see her skin, to touch her, to kiss her, and when he finally saw her, he lost his breath, she was perfect, and fuck her scars and the bastard that caused them. He stroked her neck with his fingertips and traced a path between her breasts until she reached her belly button. He skirted her breasts and touched one of her nipples with the most delicate gesture of his life. He felt her stiffen beneath his touch and noted her face tense, her eyes closed tight.

"Bad?"

"Only my memories." She stared at him, sadness etched in her features. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be, but let me continue to touch you."

"I…"

Sandor interrupted her by placing a hand under her chin to keep her from looking away.

"Keep your eyes open and see that you do not have to be afraid of me."

Just as Sansa had done, Sandor stroked each scar, always watching her reaction to his touch. Gradually she started to relax and when he fell forward her and placed a kiss on a particularly ugly scar by the side of her belly button, he heard her sigh. He felt her hands stroking his hair before looking up and meeting her tender glance.

"Let's go to bed, Sandor."

She did not have to ask twice.


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa laughed at the impetus with which Sandor pulled her off the floor, and, when he laid her on the bed, their eyes met for a moment, and he gave in to will to kiss her, she was the tastiest thing he had ever tried. He deepened the kiss wishing to get lost between her lips, pressing her just enough to feel the soft body beneath his. Her hands returned to his hair, no longer caressing him, but pulling him to her, making him think that nothing had been so perfect before. He kissed her until she was breathless, and when their lips parted, he was presented with the sight of her mouth, swollen and red, smiling at him. Sansa's left hand slid from his hair and went to the marked side of his face. Sandor made a move to push her away, but she interrupted him.

"Please."

Disarmed by that sweet voice, he allowed himself to be touched. Sensitivity was strange on that part of his face, he had points where he felt nothing, but in others, even the smallest touch was painful. She was gentle on her expedition, touching softly each marked spot, and when there was no more scar to run her fingers, she sat on the bed and gently kissed him on the ruined cheek, the final act to knock down any barrier that was still standing and doing he surrender to her.

With gentle caresses, she persuaded him to lie down and snuggled up to him, kissing him unhurriedly, exploring every corner of his mouth, driving him mad.

"That's good." She murmured against his lips before pulling back and resting her chin on his chest.

"Yes, it makes me want to kiss all of you."

"All of me?" Her voice betrayed her surprise.

"Each part."

"I... I think I'd like that."

"Really?" He could not help to ask, after all, though he wanted to run every inch of her body with his mouth, he would not do anything she had not allowed.

Sansa just nodded in agreement.

As gentle as he could, Sandor laid her against the blankets and kissed her mouth briefly before moving to her neck. He brushed his teeth lightly against her soft skin and felt her tense. He glanced to her face and found her eyes closed.

"Open your eyes, Sansa, and see that it's me." He whispered in her ear and took the opportunity to lick its. "You know I'm incapable of hurting you, you always knew."

Sandor brushed her collarbone with his lips as he watched her clench her eyelids trying to follow his words, it was exciting to see how his caresses affected her. He kissed her neck and ran his nose down the valley between her breasts before running around one of them with his tongue.

"Keep your eyes open, Sansa." He asked before tasting the rosy, inviting nipple, making her gasp.

"I cann... I cannot do it with you doing such things..."

He smiled against her skin, his ego inflated and his body throbbing as a result of Sansa's reactions. He put his mouth over her other nipple; she moaned.

"Talk to me, do not let me forget it's you..."

Sandor glanced at her, eyes closed, surrendering to his caresses.

"Who wants to talk when can do better things with mouth?" Sandor run his tongue around her belly button and laid a kiss on it.

"Sandor..." It was just a whisper, half-ordered, half-delight.

"What do you want me to say?" He traced the curve of her waist with his mouth laying warm kisses.

"Anything, it does not matter..."

It did not matter to him either, whatever he said, he would be missing out to enjoy her soft skin.

"Sandor..."

"There's a horse in the stables." He ran his tongue outside of her thigh. "A fine, big animal," he said, stroking a few scars and kissing them, "who, with the right training, could become unbeatable in a battle." He lifted her leg a little and kissed the sensitive part behind her knee. "And it's fast, too", crossing Sansa's leg over his head, he found himself between her thighs, "faster than expected for an animal of that size."

"Sandor?"

"Hmm?"

"Stop talking about horses."

Sandor laughed and rubbed his beard inside of her thigh, watching the hair there rise up. He settled himself between her legs and stared at her with greed; he wanted her so much that he even salivated. Without warning, he ran his nose through her folds, making her gasp in surprise.

"Bad?"

"Not."

"Good..."

Impatient, he laid his mouth on her again, kissing her hard before he tasted her; she was delicious. He continued to stroke her with his tongue, running from top to bottom, intensifying one movement or another when he felt her shudder around him. When he touched the sensitive mountain above her sex, Sansa closed her legs around his head, moaning in delight. Enraptured by her reaction, Sandor intensified his caresses until he felt she convulsing against his tongue and softened in the midst of a sigh of pleasure.

Still with his mouth on her, Sandor looked up and found her staring him back with a small smile and bright eyes of surprise and satisfaction. She led one of her hands to his hair and began to stroke it with care; to see her like this, to feel her, make him experience emotions he did not know and which he could not deal with. Trying to control himself, he resumed his caresses, slow and carefully, but as exciting as before, for he felt her pulse beneath his tongue.

"It's always like that?"

"What?"

"The feeling."

"I do not know."

Sansa looked a little disappointed by the answer.

"How about you?" He looked at her questioningly, and she seem uncertain as she added softly, "And your pleasure?"

It was a fact that Sandor had not reached the climax, but he had felt more pleasure tasting Sansa than he had felt in all the sex of his life.

"Doing this," he licked her firmly, making her wince slightly, "is quite pleasurable."

"Would it still be nice if you... if you were inside me?"

For him? For sure. For her, however, he could not tell. Her reactions when he started touching her showed that the marks in her spirit were so vast, if not larger, than in her body, and Sandor feared what might happen if he entered inside her.

"I do not know."

Sansa stood there for a moment, lost in thought before speaking again.

"I... I think I'd like to try..."

"Sansa..."

"My courage will not last forever, Sandor, and I would hate to waste it." As he searched for words that made her change her mind, Sansa tried to pull him by his arms, catching his attention. "I know what you're thinking, but do not let it stop something that might be good for both of us." She squeezed his shoulders. "Do not make me beg, Sandor."

Sansa was determined and, _seven hells_ , he wanted her so much, always wanted to.

"Tell me if you do not like it."

She nodded, and he pressed his lips to hers in an urgent kiss; he wanted her body to be as ready and willing for sex as his. He touched her breasts, dragged his hand down her ribs, and belly before place it where his mouth had just been. He studied her responses to his caresses before starts to massage her slowly. She sighed and spread her legs a little wider; that was all the encouragement he needed. When he felt Sansa's orgasm close, he calmed down and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to come in."

Sansa was tiny to him, and entering her was a delicious torture. He felt her nails digging into his shoulders, but, by the way she curled her legs in his, Sandor would say she was enjoying it. He moved slowly, in long, deep thrusts, listening to Sansa gasp in harmony. Her hands ran down his back, squeezing him, pulling him to her, driving him crazy. His movements became faster and with each groan of Sansa, more frantic. _I cannot take it_. On impulse, he lifted her leg, going deeper, faster and was rewarded by Sansa's incoherent groan and the delicious contraction of her body around his cock, in three strokes he was finished.

Sandor collapsed over her, making the air out of her lungs audibly. He tried to pull away, but she stopped him.

"Stay."

"I'm crushing you."

"No you are not." He felt her fingers run gently down his spine and gave up.

As his heart calmed, Sandor's awareness awakened to other things: the warmth of Sansa's skin, her heady scent, and the fact that he was still buried deep inside her; the mere thought made him pulse in rejoicing.

"It was better than I expected. "She said softly and he turned his face to see her. "To have you inside me. It was as good as when you used your tongue." Hearing that made him almost hard.

"It was." Agreed, he would agree to everything in that moment.

They were silent for a few more minutes. Sandor was already beginning to feel drowsy when Sansa said that her legs were beginning to tingle. Sorrowful, he withdrew from inside her, and he was already on his feet to get up when she hugged him by his waist and rested her face in the middle of his back. The gesture surprised him, for despite what they had just experienced, it seemed more intimate to him, an even greater surrender from Sansa.

"Sleep with me."

"It's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"If they know that..."

"Let them know." She tightened her grip. "Just stay with me."

It was a tempting offer, made just right to make it irrefutable. Uncrossing Sansa's arms so he could move, he saw the doubt cross her face before settling into her blankets; looking pleased, she did the same.

"Have you slept with a woman before?" Sandor looked at her quizzically. Had not they just done that? "I mean only sleep, have you?"

"No."

She nodded and he closed his eyes trying to get some rest.

"I saw my parents once, sleeping." She whispered after a while. "They were holding each other."

She was silent again, but now she had been able to stir his curiosity.

"Do you want to do the same?" He did not need to ask, he could see it in her face. "Come here, girl."

He stretched out his arms to wrap her around and got confused to see her turn and prop her back to the side of his body, her head lying in the crook of his arm. The heat and smell of her hit him, inducing him surround her with his free arm. With a sigh, Sansa took his hand in hers and led it to her chest; succumbing to the temptation, Sandor took a soft breast with his hand; she did not push him away.

Despite the comfort they were in, neither of them could sleep, the reality of what was happening outside those walls gradually infiltrating the bubble they had created; and as the sky passed from black to gray, Sandor left Sansa's chamber and went to meet Bran, clutching the handle of his sword in anticipation of the news he would give.


	10. Chapter 10

"They have not advanced? Why they have not advanced?"

It was the fourth time Sandor had heard this same question, each time made by a different person.

"I do not know." The boy answered unruffled.

"The Night King must know that Jon is on his way and wants our army to go to him." The dwarf replied.

"Why?"

"Advantages of the terrain, delay the fight until dark... There are endless possibilities."

"There's nothing we can do, milady." Brienne said at the sight of Sansa's distress.

"It's right. There's nothing we can do there, so let's do something here."

In a matter of minutes, Sansa had drawn up plans for everyone, tasks as useless as patching ragged clothes, but they were complied without arguing; particularly everyone agreed that idle waiting would be far worse.

"You should come in; you'll freeze if you stay here."

"Staying here is good for me. It is the only place where I have more good than bad memories. Seat with me." Even knowing that he would regret being stuck to the shins in the snow, Sandor agreed with her request. "My father loved this place. He never said it, but I knew it, we all knew." She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "If I close my eyes I can see him paying his respects to the ancient gods, or Robb and Jon fighting inside the lake, Bran climbing trees, Arya facing invisible enemies and Rickon ..." Her voice trailed off for a moment. "Rickon was little more than a baby the last time I saw him here. We should never have gone to the South."

Sansa's gaze was lost, her thoughts probably in another age. With no desire to move, Sandor looked around the forest. It was strange to be there, his lack of faith made him feel like an intruder, something that had never happened in the few times he entered a septum. Perhaps the faith of the Northerners was stronger than that of the Southerners, so strong that its remained in their holy places even after their deaths.

"I hated this place." Sansa's voice caught his attention. "I thought it was scary, with its heavy silence and dark aspect. I wondered which God would prefer this to the Septus full of light and beauty that my father had built for my mother. Not to mention the carved face in the heart tree, I felt shivers just watching it." Her words affected him more than she could imagine. Sansa put her arm around his and held his hand. "I was a big fool, deluded by looks and attracted to beautiful words."

"You were a child."

"I wish I had been a cleverer child, maybe I had made better choices, I..."

"Milady!" Gilly's scream made the two of them turn at once. The girl was running the best she could on the fluffy snow. "Milady! Your brother..." She took a deep breath, trying to catch her breath. "He said that the king's army met the dead..."

When they had entered Winterfell's hall, a good number of people had gathered around Bran, whose body was flaccid in his chair and his eyes white. The fat man, Samwell, told them that the boy was trying to help the war, being more useful over there than there. Not wanting her brother to be a spectacle to anyone, Sansa asked Sandor to take him to his bedroom, and there they were since then.

"You should eat." Sandor said to Sansa, who was sitting in an armchair with her eyes fixed on her brother as he poured himself a serving of hot broth.

"I'm not hungry."

"The battle can last for hours, he may not come back anytime soon."

"Never mind, I want to be the first to welcome you when you get back."

Sandor swallowed his food in silence, her obstinacy walking side by side with her stubbornness.

"Do not make noise!" Sandor snarled as the chubby man tripped inside.

"Excuse me." He spoke quietly and looked up at Sansa, who was dozing in the armchair. "Any news?" Sandor shook his head. Sam stood beside him watching the brothers. "If you want to take Lady Sansa to her chamber, I'll take care of Bran."

Sandor stared at the fat boy with a childish face and a silly grin; he looked like an idiot, and he certainly would not last a half hour in a battle, but he was loyal as only a dog could be, and Sandor respected him for it. Without answering, he walked over to Sansa and wrapped his arms around her; she woke up at once.

"What…?"

"I'll take you to your room."

"No!" She held his arms trying to push him away, but he did not allow it.

"You're exhausted, you've slept for over an hour, you need to rest." She was not willing to listen to him. "The fat one is here, when Bran comes back, he'll let you know right away."

She peeked over his shoulder, and Sandor knew what she saw: Bran lying in bed in the same position he had placed him hours ago.

"I'm awake now."

"Sansa..."

"You can come with me to my room, Sandor, but you do not have to carry me."

He stood up and gave her space to stand up and smooth her skirts. Before leaving, she went to her brother and stroked his hand.

"I want to be the first to know when he wakes up, Sam." The fat man nodded and she left the room with her head up like the lady she was.

In a few steps, however, he saw her haughtiness wither and her pace got slow. With three strides, he was at her side.

"Seeing him like this makes me wonder if he'll be back here someday or if he'll be lost in the shape of some kind of animal. He's not the brother I remember, but he's still my brother and I do not want to lose him."

Sandor pulled her to him, the intimacy not seeming strange after the night they had passed.

"Nothing lasts forever, at some point the wait will end."

"For the good or for the bad."

It was a gloomy but true omen.

"Yes."

Minutes later, when Sansa invited him to her bed, Sandor followed with pleasure, feeling the blood heat in anticipation of what would happen. He undressed her under kisses and caresses and considered himself a lucky son of a bitch when he felt her shiver with delight as he entered in her body. It was different this time, slower and longer, permeated by long and deep kisses, and when she found the pleasure, Sandor's came next.

"I could get used to it." Sansa broke the silence several minutes later, her head resting on Sandor's chest as he stroked her back.

He could, too, but he would never tell her that.

If the wars were defeated and Sansa still wanted him in her bed, he would accompany her with pleasure, and he would always do until she got tired of him or had another husband arranged; bile rose in his throat just to imagine her being forced to other marry against her will, if a marriage took place, should be by her choice. As for him, well, he would most likely get in the first ship bound for Essos and sell his sword to whoever paid best. Or maybe he'd get a hut somewhere and start creating dogs like his grandfather did; the idea of a quiet life appealed to him, he always liked animals better than people, and he was getting tired of living with his sword in fist. He looked at the girl lying on his chest, maybe it took weeks or months, but he knew it would not take years before that and when it happened, he should know the way forward.

He lifted her delicate face and kissed her longingly in response to her comment; she interpret it as she wants. He felt soft hands run down his chest and then tighten his arms. He liked that, more than he should have. He pulled her close and hugged her; she brushed her mouth away to kiss his chin and neck. The reaction of his body was immediate, and he was already halfway to put her under him when the roar of a trumpet cut the night.

"What is it?" Sansa was scared, and it was no wonder.

"We're being attacked." Sandor jumped out of bed and went to the window.

"By whom?" She stood up too, curling herself into one of the bed skins

"There's no light..."

"Milady! Milady!" Brienne screamed as she punched on the door. Sansa hurried to open it. "The dead, they..." She choked to see Sandor naked in Sansa's room.

"Wake the others, everyone, and send them to the crypts. I'll take care of her." Sandor yelled as he dressed hastily. "Go!"

"Do what he says, Brienne." Sansa closed the door without waiting for a signal that the guardian would follow her orders and began to dress as well.

When Sandor tried to take Sansa out of the castle, she pulled him in the other direction.

"Bran... He and Sam..."

Sandor roared, but changed their way to the boy's room and found the fat man trying to put him on the chair.

"Get off!"

In a sudden movement, Sandor threw Bran over his shoulder and left the room, hoping the others would be quick enough. On the way to the crypts, others joined them: Tyrion, Gilly and the baby, and many others he did not know the names, women and children mostly. He placed Bran on the ground, propped up in one of the countless tombs and was already heading for the doors when a hand wrapped his.

"Be careful."

The gesture left him speechless, so he just nodded before leaving and saw the entrance to the crypt closed behind him.

The yard was a mess. People were running around trying to defend the walls as best they could, but hot oil did not affect the dead as much as it affected the living people, and they had few archers and fewer arrows. He went up to the castle battlements to see the situation by himself; they were surrounded. The night prevented him from seeing at a distance, but whenever a fire hazard cut across the sky in search of a target, Sandor could see in the distance the dead walking, there were so many that they did not need to be in a hurry. He looked around and saw the desperation on the archers' faces, that no matter where they fired, some bones burned. He ran down the stairs toward the forge and took everything he found that was made of dragon glass.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked when he saw Davos at his side.

"Same as you, apparently."

"You should be in the crypts."

"I am not a warrior, but I am not a complete useless either." He said grabbing as many daggers as he could.

"Give it to anyone who can handle it." The other just nodded as they went out to see the first skeletons cross the walls.

They were lost.

Sandor was never so sure of anything in life. The dead were cornering them in the middle of the courtyard, surrounding them as if they were sheep. Most of the old men who had set out to fight had already died. Brienne was fighting beside him, the desperation reflected in her eyes. The Kingslayer seemed not to be there, reduced to a mass of lame movements of pure instinct, even the chubby one was more concentrated than he, terrified, but conscious. As he struggled, feeling his arms tired from the effort, his mind traveled to the crypts. Even out of the fight, they were not save, it would not be long until they all succumbed and the others be discovered; Sandor's arm weakened as he pictured Sansa's eyes with a different blue tone. Shaking his head, he redoubled his efforts, could not let it happen. As he kicked and cut, a grayish gleam caught his eye. Crossing the fallen gate of the fortress, a White Walker approached.

A laugh of disbelief came from his mouth. _They cannot be so fucking idiots!_ Brienne stared at him as if he had lost his mind, and perhaps it was true, from what he was about to say.

"See that white skeleton? We have to reach him! If he falls, the army falls!"

"All?"

"Maybe." There was no way to be sure.

Sandor saw Brienne reach the Kingslayer and almost be struck by him before Jaime recognized her. She screamed him Sandor's intentions, and he seemed to understand. _Good_. Better three than two. As they made their way to the Walker with difficulty, a squeal took over the courtyard, and more than half the army of the dead fell apart in a pile of bones, including Sandor's opponent.

Stunned, he looked around. The White Walker they were targeting was still standing, but across the yard Bronn had a heap of ice in front of his feet. He bowed before fighting again, and the others, still astonished, followed his example. The dead seemed even fiercer, and the remaining White Walker was dodging, fleeing like a cowardly king who leaves his army behind when sees the battle raging.

The mood of the living got a new breath now that they saw a chance to win. Sandor, Brienne, and Jaime were increasingly close to the Walker, and when the opportunity arose, Brienne was the first to attack him. However, the creator was stronger and more prepared than his creatures and deflecting his opponent's sword was not difficult at all. Sandor joined her, helping her up against the White Walker and pulling the skeletons away from her back as Jaime did. While struggling with the dead, trying to save time for Brienne, Sandor realized that they would get nothing if they continued like that, because, even though they were together, they were still struggling with different targets. _Fuck_!

He shouted, turning his back on the dead and attacking only the Walker. He felt their coarse weapons hitting his back and his arms, but he kept fighting, they just needed a blow to get it all over. He saw Brienne go to the ground and for a moment despair overwhelmed him. They were so close... Like a blur, Jaime flew at the Walker, and was greeted by his sword. Brienne's roar cut through the night as she rose and headed toward the iceman, who seemed to smile at her reaction. It was Sandor's chance, the distraction he needed, he brandished his sword and would have hit the Walker if he had not felt a blade staring at his back. He fell to the ground in time to see Brienne bury her sword in the Walker's stomach and it blow up into hundreds of pieces of ice. What remained of the army of the dead succumbed with him. Sandor gave a hoarse laugh, and then everything turned black.

"Sandor... Sandor..." A sweet voice called him, but he did not know from where. "Please open your eyes..." He tried, but it was so difficult. "It's over, we're safe. You need to open your eyes, Sandor, I need you here."

He tried again, his eyelids were heavy, and his eyes seemed covered with dirt, it hurts to open them, but when he did, he found a delicate face staring at him, tears flowing freely through it and in her eyes he saw something he had never seen before and that he did not understand.

"Sandor..." He heard her sigh in relief.

"Sansa..."

"Do not talk, just keep your eyes open and everything will be fine."

He would have laughed if he had not choked on a hot thick liquid; blood, his own.

"You're still a lousy liar."

"I'm not lying." She said patting his face and squeezing him against her. He smiled as he realized she was cradling him in her lap.

"But I'm dying..." He tried to lead his hand to her face, but he had no more strength.

With fresh tears, she grabbed his hand and pressed it against her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm.

"Sansa…"

"Please…"

He felt a touch on his face and a soft pressure on his mouth and then everything was gone.


	11. Epilogue

I'd like to thanks everyone who read this estory untill here, I hope you had enjoyed to read it as much as I enjoyed to write. And a special thanks to Hija de Sandor and Magnus374, who put a smile on my face with each review of them, I really loved.

Now, I leave you with the last part of this story...

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The war ended that night. The Night King perished under Jon's sword, but not without hurting him to death. Queen Daenerys lost another of her dragons, and which remained, Rhaegal, ascended to the sky and since then rarely been seen. Even though it is an animal, it should be difficult to carry the stigma of being the last of its kind.

Sansa understood this decision a little. As Ned Stark's last daughter in Winterfell, she was sometimes dominated by loneliness. Her sister had not returned from her journey to the south, and when Bran returned after the battle, he told everyone how everything was almost lost before Cersei's army went to their rescue. Sansa knew Arya was involved in it, which had probably cost her life; months of torturous hope passed before Sansa accepted, her little sister never would coming back.

With Bran it was different, he no longer felt part of Winterfell and decided to leave to the north of what remained of the Wall a few weeks after the army of the dead to be defeated. Many savages accompanied him on this journey. It was sad, but the choice had been his.

Sansa stared at the heart tree beside her and touched its white bark wondering if Bran would ever see her there at some point thinking about the lives that had been lost. Jon, Tormund, Beric, the gentle Sor Davos, Jaime Lannister and Sandor.

 _Sandor …_

It was still painful to think about him, but Sansa would not allow herself to forget him, she _could not_ forget him. She moved her hand away from the tree and turned her attention to the lake where two children played, a blond boy and a dark-haired girl. They were so happy playing in the cold waters in the heat of the summer sun. As the elders said, after the long night the longest summer of all would come; it had been almost seven years since the last snow, and every year that passed, she wondered if her family's words had lost the reason for their existence.

Winter is coming…

For sure? Sansa could not say, but she would keep repeating those words until her last breath. The children came out the water. The boy ran out of the woods, and the girl came toward Sansa smiling, and she smile back and opened a huge towel to wrap around her.

"You said you would enter the lake."

"You were having so much fun, I did not want to disturb you." She said as she dried the girl's hair.

"You never disturbs, mama." Sansa hugged her daughter, feeling her heart warm and kissed her on the cheek.

"Come on, it's lunch time."

They left the woods hand in hand, the sadness forgotten for a moment.

"What was he like, mammy?"

"You always ask that, you must know better than I do now."

"I like when you speak, it's easier to imagine."

Sansa's heart tightened a little.

"Close your eyes." The girl obeyed, and Sansa covered her with her blankets. "He was tall, much taller than anyone here in Winterfell. Strong too, stubborn and rather sullen. His voice was thick and his laugh sounded like a dog's bark." The daughter always laughed at that part. Sansa sat down on the bed beside her. "His dark hair was the same as yours, and he had a scar capable to scared little children." She completed doing tickle on the girl who squirmed while laughing loudly.

After leaving her daughter's chamber, Sansa went to her own and stopped in front of the window. She closed her eyes and remembered Sandor. She did this almost every night. At first, for the pain of feeling he die in her arms. Later, when she discovered that she was pregnant, for to be able to tell the baby she carried how her father was. She placed her hands on the belly. It was a shock to discover that she carried a child, for an insanity moment she thought it was Ramsay's and almost committed a madness against her and the child, but then she realized that it was Sandor's, and her heart quieted and tears came in a flood. He had not left her alone, even dead, he had not abandoned her. While her belly grew, she told stories to the child, not the tales of knights and beautiful maidens with which she was raised, but of her family, of her parents, brothers and sister, and what she knew about Sandor; saddened her to know him so little, however it was when she talked about him that her baby moves more in her belly. Sansa thought it would be a boy, by the force with which it kicked her, but when her daughter was born, screaming and kicking as if her life depended on it, she knew she had given birth to a warrior, as her father had been before. She opened her eyes and ran her hands over her arms, in a few years she would ask Brienne teach her daughter to handle daggers and swords, and Sansa knew that she would be radiant to follow her father's steps, even not knowing him, she loved him.

 _Love_... Sansa loved Sandor because he had given her her most precious possession, and perhaps she had loved him as a man if he had had more time at her side; was not the first time her thoughts had moved in this direction and she knew it would not be the last. He had made her feel protected, wanted, even loved, and she would always prefer his sincerity, bordering on cruelty, to lies spoken with sweet words. Yes, she could have loved him. Feeling nostalgic, she lay on her bed and fell asleep in a dreamless sleep.

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 _ **Years later**_

Eileen Stark was the new commander of Winterfell, and her first order was to have her mother's face carved in the crypt enclosing her body. She assessed the result now. It was a similar face, but it was not her mother's. It did not have her smile or the brightness of her eyes. She missed her so much that hurts. She took a deep breath, reserved her tears for the comfort of her bed, now she had a castle to command. She pulled the dagger from her belt and cut her finger before passing it over the statue's hair, her mother had red hair, her statue should have it too, at least a wick. She kissed her hand and pressed on the crypt beside before leaving. Her parentes now rested side by side.


End file.
